


For the night is Black and full of terrors

by The_Knight_Eternal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bad ass motherfucker MC, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Graphic Description, Gratuitous Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Interracial Relationship, Multiple Orgasms, Not A Fix-It, Not Canon Compliant, POV Multiple, Porn With Plot, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Insert, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Knight_Eternal/pseuds/The_Knight_Eternal
Summary: Totally Overpowered magical SI into Westeros, canon breaking and Interracial sex kink ensues.Inspired by the erotic art work of Pegasus titled Game of Thrones Blacked. Can be found at bestporncomix.com (NSFW obviously).Don't know what being able to write a whole storyline from a single cartoon scene of Interracial smut says about me though.If you don't like it don't read it.I suck at writing a summary.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Original Male Character(s), Daenerys Targaryen/Original Male Character(s), Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

“Well?” asked Daenerys Targaryen of her advisors, the famous painted table map of Westeros before her, her eyes slight unfocused, pondering.

“He, he would be a powerful ally your Grace” replied her Hand, Lord Tyrion, the usual cup of wine present in his hand.

“The Black Legion is renowned as a fearsome fighting force Khaleesi, mayhaps even better than the Unsullied” Jorah stuttered slightly as he said his words, Daenerys noticing the fierce glare Missandei was giving her old bear.

“And I suppose I would now have need of the Black Legion, seeing as how I’ve lost the Greyjoys and the Tyrells, added to the fact the Unsullied are now trapped in Casterly Rock” she stated, unable to keep anger creeping into her voice, her gaze alighting onto her Hand, who at least had the good grace to duck his head in shame. 

“Jon Snow?” she asked, refusing to use the Northman’s title nor allude to it in her addressing him, “what would you advise?”

“It’s not my place to advise your Grace” replied the gruff northerner, adding nothing else despite her gaze lingering on him. He was a handsome specimen was this bastard of Ned Stark’s, if far too short for her tastes. Had he not been an obstinate fool there might even have been a chance for something to develop between them, mayhaps even a union based on something of Love. Uniting with the largest of her realms was certainly not something she would be adverse to, and the fetchingly beautiful King in the North would make such a union so much easier. 

She pushed these pleasant enough thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the present. 

“Lord Varys, you have yet to say anything?”

“Your Grace, Lord Kumonga is rumoured to be many things, a great warrior, a leader of a band of Sellswords without peer in terms of their combat prowess, a wielder of dark and powerful magics....”

Those last words of her Master of Whispers were said with scorn and no little amount of fear she could not help but notice.

“They say he defeated the Golden Company, did he not?” she asked, interesting to see what her Master of Whisper would say in response. Many were the fantastical tales told of the defeat of the Golden Company by the Black Legion, and Daenerys Targaryen wondered if her Master of Whispers had any inkling of what really happened.

“They say that yes, they say that The Golden Company rode out from Myr in all their splendour and glory, to do battle with the Black Legion, which was then known as the Black Company. They say that the two armies met on the great plains one hundred leagues south of Myr, in fields of endless grain, that the Golden Company outnumbered the Black Company ten to one. And they say that by the end of the day the Golden Company was no more and instead the Black Legion marched north and took the greatest ever recorded tribute from Myr for the pleasure of not sacking it.”

“And?” she asked, her lips quirking with interest “what do you say happened Lord Varys?”

“One of my little birds happened to be nearby; they sang a song of a terrible storm, of dark billowing clouds appearing out of the clear blue sky, of thunder and lightning the likes of which has never been seen or heard by mortals. And of a silent army clad all in black armour marching north away from a battlefield empty of all signs of death and destruction.....”

“So magic then?”

“It appears so your Grace, powerful magic, of the likes not seen before” whispered Lord Varys.

“And you Lady Melisandre, what do your flames show you of this Solomon Kumonga?” she asked of the Red Priestess, who had pledged herself to her cause and who had predicted that the Black Legion would come to her aid in her time of greatest need.

“He, he is blessed by the Lord of Light your Grace, he wields great magics, has powers at his command that no mortal has ever been graced with. His coming has been long prophesised, long awaited. He seeks an audience with you your Grace, you should at least meet with him.”

“Hah!” she exclaimed, biting off her laugh “he seeks more than an audience Melisandre of Ashai, he seeks my hand as the price for him joining my cause. Well Lord Tyrion, you said I would need to marry to secure alliances, is this what you had in mind? Some Summer Island Sellsword?"

“Not, not quite your Grace” Lord Tyrion replied, shrugging his shoulders and trying not to look embarrassed. “But, but our....circumstances would favour you at least considering such a match....”

“I’ve wed one barbarian before, what’s another eh?” she quipped, unable to keep the slightest hint of bitterness from her voice.

“Don’t, don’t meet him your Grace...” blurted our Missandei, fear and terror evident in her voice, as all eyes turned to her, Daenerys noting how pale her friend looked, how utterly terrified the girl was.

When she said nothing else despite their scrutiny Daenerys said “go on Missandei, you have no need to fear your words here.”

Your Grace.....he...this....Kumonga is a beast, an animal, a thing of foul, twisted magic.....that he chooses such a name.....”

Missandei sputtered into silence, her eyes wide and terrified in her face, darting around, as if seeking to spy some hidden terror “a, a Kumonga is an evil spirit in Narth, a creature of the pits of hell that possess the body of a man in return for gifting the foolish human that would treat with them power and dark magic. The human gets its powers and the Kumonga gets to experience the living world and all its sensations and pleasures, but the Kumonga is always in control of the human, it succumbs to its evil will in all things, without even knowing it....”

“And?” Daenerys asks, softening her face and voice to prod the terrified girl further.

“Burn it, Burn it with dragonfire now Khaleesi, before it is too late.....please, I beg of you, before it is too late for all of us!” 

“A dilemma then!” quipped Lord Tyrion, who reached for a carafe of wine to refill his cup, pouring a generous measure and drinking deeply of it, obviously considering his answer, before saying “The Black Legion has taken five commissions since its inception, six if you count its contract as the Black Company, all have been fulfilled absolutely to the letter and spirit of the contract. No cites have been sacked, no rapes or pillages reported, though they do extract an onerous toll in coin and goods from towns and cities that they capture, to ensure they are spared a sacking. They also are known to take slaves away with them, along with some captives, but they are not excessive in this either. All enemies who are met on the field of battle are destroyed utterly, and are never seen or heard of again for the most part. Only scattered survivors remain, if at all, who tell tales of serried ranks of silent warriors, all clad head to toe in identical black armour who fight relentlessly, tirelessly with the strength of several men and the speed of a striking viper. Would not such a force be a valuable addition to your army your Grace, and an excellent means of securing the peace after you take the Iron Throne? At least hear this Solomon Kumonga out?” 

She held her dwarfish Hand’s eyes, letting her gaze linger on the little Lannister Lord, his advice had been rather flawed of late, and it had led her to this juncture, to the need for more allies. And now to a man who presumed to ask for her hand in return for his support, well he was brave this Solomon Kumonga, she would give him that.

“Very well, I will meet with this Solomon Kumonga, invite him to the Keep and I will see what he has to say for himself” she announced, determined to gain the services of this Sellsword, but equally determined not to yield her hand in a betrothal, at least not without some hard bargaining.

“Missandei, I wish to change to meet this barbarian, please attend to me.”

Later in her quarters with her handmaidens and Missandei she ponders the letter that one of the Black Legions men had delivered from his Lord Commander to her personally, a tall and strapping young Summer Islander with an easy grin on his handsome face.

It contained much more than his formal letter seeking her hand in marriage in return for pledging his men to her cause, for it contained much more fascinating details of what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms, and what had happened to lead up to this point. The report of the Lannister Army returning to Kings landing with the treasure of the Tyrells and a bounty of food to supply Kings Landing for a prolonged siege caught her eye, as did the advice to attack this column with her Dragons at the juncture of the Rose road and the Storm road. This Solomon Kumonga was certainly ruthless enough, something she feared her Hand was not, especially as this letter alluded that Lord Tyrion was as concerned at sparing his brother, and maybe even his sister, as he was in securing her the Iron Throne. 

His description of the general state of play of the Seven Kingdoms with brief, but fascinating details made up the bulk of the letter; he seemed awfully well informed for a foreign Sellsword did this Solomon Kumonga. Interestingly he was candid enough to report that Cersei Lannister had tried to buy the services of the Black Legion, and that he had turned her down, saying that he did not want to fight against dragons. A smart man then she thought, letting a small smile touch her lips. 

As she ponders they have been looking through her wardrobe, to try and find something to wear that was appropriate for an audience with a supplicant and prospective husband. Her body had changed these last twelve moons or so, her hips widening and her teats becoming larger, but without any sagging at all, standing proud of her chest. She had become much more womanly looking and she liked it if she was honest, Dario certainly had approved, a slight pang pinched at her heart at the thoughts of her lover, left behind deliberately in Dragons bay. 

Her changing body had needed her wardrobe to be altered to accommodate it; with some dresses just not practical to wear anymore due to her new found curves. Eventually she found something that pleased her, one of her white gowns that she was so fond of wearing in Mereen.

“This one, I will wear this one” she announced, her handmaidens bowing to her and they took the dress out to be aired and checked over to see if it needed any last minute cleaning or alterations.

Gesturing to Missandei they stepped away from the bustling handmaidens and walked out onto a balcony, a stiff sea breeze ruffling her hair and she gazed over to spy the ships of the Black Legion, several hundred of them, all looking identical, riding at anchor outside the great harbour of Dragonstone.

“A powerful force” she muttered, as much to herself as to Missandei, as she turned to face her companion and confidant. “You do not want me to meet this Solomon Kumonga do you?”

“No Khaleesi, I do not” replied the girl, her eyes beseeching her.

“I have no choice, my armies and allies are scattered or broken, all I have is the Dothraki and the Dragons, we will run out of food for the Dothraki in a turn and a half of the moon. We must make our move or starve. The only move is to invade Westeros” she nodded towards the sea in the direction were the shores of Westeros lay “but with only the Dothraki I fear we would not be able to take Kings Landing, nor hold the Seven Kingdoms afterwards.”

“The Unsullied, they could break out of Casterly Rock, march across Westeros to join us!” countered Missandei, he voice desperate.

“They would not reach Kings landing in time; an unopposed march from Casterly Rock to Kings Landing along the Gold Road would take two turns of the moon, assuming that there is sufficient food at the towns, keeps and tithe barns along the way to feed the Unsullied. They would first have to break the siege of Casterly Rock, and then likely conduct a fighting march all the way to Kings Landing, with the need to forage along the way. That means it could take them four moons, or maybe even more to get to Kings Landing, and that assumes they are not destroyed somewhere along the march...”

“But Khalessi.....” sobbed Missandei “you, you would be meeting a, a monster.....I beg of you, send him away, do not meet him!”

Daenerys sighed, taking her friends hands in her own “I wed Khal Drogo without a choice, but I grew to love him, barbarian and all that he was. I married my second husband for purely political reasons; there was never any love between us at all. This Solomon Kumonga, he asks much of me, maybe even too much for someone of his station, but he does bring me an Army when I have sore need of one.”

“You, you think he is here now by chance, by coincidence Khalessi, he is here for that very reason, when you are at your very weakest!”

“He does not ask to be King; he pledges to be my Prince Consort only, and that any children we have will take the Targaryen name. He has no name, no legitimacy in Westeros; the Lords of the realm will never accept him Missandei, you worry too much.”

“Burn him Khalessi, burn him and his ships now! Before it is too late!”

“Well if he displeases me there is always that option Missandei, I won’t forget that!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see the MC's thought process for the 1st time

Going from a pathetic, nerdy geek to the greatest warlord and mage that Westeros had ever seen was quite the achievement I smugly congratulated myself as I strode towards the Throne Room on Dragonstone and my meeting with Daenerys Targaryen. Hell even surviving going from Earth to the fantasy world of Planetos would have been an epic triumph over fate, if I had found myself without the powers that I currently wield. But whoever, or maybe whatever had dumped me here had more than amply provided for me in that respect.

Maybe all of this was a game, some vast, twisted computer simulation that I had access to the Debug and Admin functions for, how I utilised my ‘powers’ certainly seemed to point in that direction, but I had long since ceased caring one way or the other.

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and that was as true now and when it had first been uttered. Planetos was a vast playground for me to essentially do with as I wished, within certain limits, but said limits were none too onerous, and they certainly did not much cramp my style or enjoyment of life on George R R Martins fantasy hellhole. Well hellhole for pretty much everyone who was not a high born noble, or me for that matter.

I won’t bore you with the details of my arrival on Plantetos, suffice it to say that I appeared in Essos suddenly and with a complete and innate understanding of my powers and abilities. For those of you who want to know, think of it as like a Gamer Universe, but with me being able to level up to max and get all Perks, Artefacts and Traits etc. instantly, by having access to something akin to the Crusader Kings 2 Command Console. 

Insta-building things was totally OP but fuck it, it served its purpose as far as I was concerned, namely making me more powerful. It also applied to weapons, as many as I liked or needed. As long as I had the raw materials to hand I could insta-build weapons and armour to equip my army, ditto for buildings by the way. And not just any old weapons either, because of reasons I could churn out magically enhanced steel magically, and in whatever amounts I needed within the materials constraints, which were just iron and other such normal chemical elements. Which was fookin’ super cool to my mind.

I’m getting off topic a bit though, when I had first arrived in Planetos I quickly noticed I was not in my old, skinny and whimpy body, oh no, fuck no. The old me was gone and in its place was a seven foot tall, muscle bound brick shithouse, with perfect, flawless ebony skin and a face that was devilishly, cruelly handsome. 

A quick dip into the Admin menu and the Console and I went straight to work, buffing my already decent stats to those of a demigod, adding as many Perks, Traits and Artefacts as listed in the various menu’s that I thought useful, and creating others that I wanted to. Apparently when I access these functions time ceases in this universe, a handy little trick I have to admit. 

And it’s not just me that I can change, everybody else is mine to play with, to control as I see fit, with certain caveats though. But yeah, I’m utterly OP playing this so called Game of Thrones, but fuck it, I was going to enjoy it to its fullest come what may.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.”

Despite the confidence in Missandei’s voice I could hear her fear, feel the undercurrent of terror that thrummed through the girl. The little black pearl from Narth was no fool, and she had the merest drop of magical blood in her, blood which was reacting rather poorly to my powers. A shame really, but nothing I could not fix if I wanted to, but I put her from my mind and concentrated on the tiny, silver haired girl sitting on the throne before me. Who was dressed in much skimpier clothing than when she had met Jon Snow here, the castle was provided with hypocaust style heating courtesy of being on a volcanic island and was thus pleasantly warm inside. 

Daenerys Targaryen, who looked a little bit like Emilia Clarke, only younger and much, much hotter, some of that was down to her magical Targaryen genes, the rest was down to me and my powers. Remember how I said I could modify peeps? Well the Mother of Dragons had been given a greatly improved ass and hips courtesy of my good self, along with a set of tits that could grace a playboy bunny’s chest as a glorious testament to the plastic surgeons art. Tits that would never sag or slump, and that were perky despite their size, topped with slightly larger and exquisitely sensitive nipples. I had sculpted her already angelic face into an ever more stunning visage, bigger eyes, longer eyelashes, higher cheekbones, and thicker, pouting dick sucking lips. All body hair expect that on her head, her eyebrows and a small patch above her cunt had been removed, the hair on her head, already thick and glossy now looked as if it had come from a shampoo commercial, perfectly silky and shiny.

She was also much healthier overall, the long term effects of malnutrition form her childhood were gone, as was any damage to her reproductive organs that witch Mirri Maz Duur had inflicted on her. Though on that score I’d kept her from ovulating as I did not want anyone knocking up the Mother of Dragons, except for me, but all in good time as they say. 

After all, fail to plan and plan to fail, and Daenerys Stormborn was definitely part of my plans.

I’d made these changes to the Mother of Dragons over the past year or so, slowly enough to not raise too many eyebrows, with only Dario, Jorah and Tyrion’s cocks apt to rise at the vision of this new Khaleesi. And probably Jon Sonw’s also, tiny and all that it was, being able to see characters stats was so much fun, and for spite I’d even knocked a few inches off Jon Snow’s already tiny cock.

“I am Solomon Kumonga, Lord Commander of the Black Legion, come to offer my sword and those of my Legion to the rightful Queen of the seven Kingdoms” short, straight and to the point. Daenerys sits on the throne; Tyrion and Missandei stand in front of her and on either side of the dais that the throne rests upon, twenty Dothraki stand around as her bodyguard. Jorah stands to the left of Daenerys, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Jon Snow stands off to her right at a similar distance, scowling at me for some reason; maybe he suspects that I’ve robbed him of some of his cock, who cares? 

I have refused to give up my weapons, in this case my trusty sword, patterned after the 1796 Heavy Cavalry Sword, because Sharpe was a bad ass mofo and I liked it, but my sword was made of Admantium. My bodyguard, five troopers of the Black Legion who stand arrayed behind me, are equally also armed; we are not giving up our weapons for love nor money. They are clad head to toe in full plate, in this case the newer Mark IV pattern (yeah I know, WH 40k reference....my bad). It’s made from Admantium and looks like a combination of Lorica Segmentata with medieval armour, with chain mail added for flexibility were needed on the arms and legs, the chainmail also being made from Admantium , with closed face helmets rounding out the ensemble, shielding the face completely. They are armed with long swords and an oval shield, both of course made from you guessed it, Admantium!

Its Marvel comics Admantium by the way, pretty much indestructible and super light, can take a monomolecular edge....well not exactly, but close enough to enable it to cut through pretty much anything. 

“Is, is that....Valyrian steel?” asked Tyrion Lannister, gesturing to one of the Legionnaires, and he did look like Peter Dinklage I noted.

“No my Lord Hand, all of the men of the Black Legion are clad in Admantium armour, and they are armed with the same also, as am I” I reply, letting my hand fall to the pommel of my sword and a savage grin break out on my face.

“I have not heard of such a metal?” Tyrion asks me, his face alive with interest.

“It is a magical form of steel, impervious to all blows and damage, which cannot be pierced by other steels. I would like to demonstrate its strength if you would not mind?”

Daenerys speaks some words in Dothraki, which I could have insta-learned if I had bothered, but I had not. One of the unwashed savages advances on one of Legionnaires, who steps forwards and presents sideways to the Dothraki, who draws his Arakh and slashes at the arms and Pauldrons of the Legionnaire, who of course does not flinch or move at all as the strikes hit home. 

Instead the Legionnaire draws his own sword in a motion so fast and fluid that I know is almost invisible to the observers, bisecting the man’s curved blade in a single swipe. 

Gasps fill the room from the non Dothraki, growls erupt from the horse savages, who make to draw their weapons, until stilled by a command from Daenerys.

“Lord Jon?” she asks, her eyes still fixed on mine.

“I believe that your sword is valyrian steel, is it not?” asks Daenerys of Jon Snow.

“Yes your Grace” he mumbles back, sullen sounding.

A flurry of commands in Dothraki follow, two of them moving off, no doubt to retrieve Longclaw, I idly wonder if Ser Friendzone will recognise the blade? 

Now at this stage, or indeed at any time prior to this I could have popped open my handy ‘cheat console’ and simply commanded Daenerys Targaryen agree to anything I wanted, but that would be boring. I wanted a little challenge, though with my Stats, Traits, Perks and Artefacts etc. there was pretty much no chance of her saying no to what I want. Add to this the fact that she had just lost the Iron Fleet, and that the majority of the Unsullied were trapped in Casterly rock, the girl who wanted so much to be Queen was now trapped between a rock and a hard place. With the power of House Tyrell decisively broken and Randyl Tarly having been declared Lord of the Reach by Cersei, the girl was looking rather bereft of allies right now. Hence why I had come at this particular juncture in the Game of Thrones and not before, I liked the thoughts of Daenerys Targaryen being forced into accepting my terms because she had no other choice in the matter.

And let’s also be honest, that comic by Pegasus of King Kumonga and Daenerys Targaryen meeting was super hot, and I wanted to re-enact it, though not exactly, yes I planned to reduce her to a cock addled slave of mine, but certain conventions had to be observed, at least initially.

“The tales of the prowess of the Black Legion are not overtold then, if they are all armed and armoured with such weapons” the girl announced, her voice wavering slightly “I will accept you bending the knee to me Lord Kumonga” Daenerys said in what she tried to project as her most imperious voice, but with I could sense an undercurrent of fear running through it.

“No, I will not bend the knee, not now, not ever. You will only have my sword and those of the Black Legion if you agree to the terms I have already laid out” I replied, my voice level and confident, should anyone draw steel I’d easily be able to handle them, and with five Black Legionnaires at my back it would be a walk over.

Not that I particularly want to whack Jorah or Jon Snow, the later being a useful, honourable fool who can rule in Winterfell when all this unpleasantness is over, and killing him would no doubt anger the North. But then again, he could be dispatched easily enough and my powers could nullify any threat that the Northern Lords might pose. His dear cousin Sansa on the other hand, well she was another target for my Harem of High born hotties. Which would be missing some of my firm favourites like Margaery Tyrell and Myrcella Baratheon, but that could not be helped given the time frame of my plan. But I was also planning on adding Cersei to the list if I could, suitably de-aged back to her teenage years and modded to better suit my tastes. I might even leave the crazy in place; it could be advantageous to breaking her in the end, might also add considerable spice to fucking her, who knows? So to that end for the last few months I’d been twisting her dreams and fantasies to concentrate on the thoughts of getting fucked by me.  
Jorah, I could not give the steam off my piss for if he lived or died, probably better off if I get rid of him though, well let us see what we shall see eh?  
Sure, I pretty much could have swept into Westeros at any time after I found myself on Planetos and conquered the place handily, as I had determined that I had arrived just around the start of canon. But instead I had waited and built myself my army, the Black Legion, along with a suitable reputation, and enjoyed myself along the way while I was at it. I could have intervened and saved Ned, or Robb, crushed the Lannister’s, or screw all that and even joined with the Lannisters and set them up on the Iron Throne, in return for what would be more than ample rewards. Like fucking Cersei and Myrcella in a hot mother-daughter blonde sandwich? In fact three had even been an offer for the Black Legion to take a contract in the service of the Iron Throne when Joffrey was sitting his skinny bastard ass on it. I’d pondered it for a while, but replied with a counter offer that I was sure to be rejected, and it was, apparently asking for Myrcella’s hand in marriage and a Lordship for my good self was too much to ask of the Lannister’s. A shame really, Joffrey and Tommen would have found themselves tragically dead pretty soon after I would have arrived, with the Black Legion at my back and Myrcella as my wife I would have been confident of being able not only to seize the Iron Throne but also hand onto the dammed spiky thing. Then it would have been a case of getting the realm ready and stable and inviting Danny in once her Dragons were big enough, then working some magic on Danny to make her amenable to being a second wife to me and then dealing with the Night King. It would have been a nice scenario all told, but it was not to be. 

Hell I could have whisked Danny away from marriage to Khal Drogo and instead been the one to bust her teenage cherry, but then dragons might not have been a thing because even with everything I had, all the advantages courtesy of appearing to be in my very own Gamer Universe and with cheating enabled, I had been unable to get any access to Dragon Magic. Seems like if I wanted flying magical WMD’s I needed Danny, though from checking the various stats and data on the Great Enemy Dragons were not actually that vital. Where they would be vital was for ruling Westeros afterwards, and any conquering I wanted to do on the side in Essos. Danny’s control over the beasts was so much better because though I did not have access to Dragon magic, she did. So when modding her I’d given her max skills at controlling her dragons, and even created a few never before seen abilities for the Dragon Queen. 

So hence why I needed her, and why I was going to get her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delve into the fascinating mind of Cersei Lannister....

Cersei Lannister sipped at her wine, her anger boiling in her veins, as Qyburn delivered his reports. Of her Small Council he was the only one she really trusted or whose opinion she valued, the rest were all just nobodies, inconsequential. Even Jamie, who had no head for politics at all, and was required as Lord Commander of the Queensguard to attend these meetings, rarely offered her any council that she listened to any more.

She still missed him though, her twin, her perfect brother, despite the loss of his right hand, she had come to accept him back into her life, into her bed. He and the Lannister army were still several days away, probably a week at most, flush with the spoils of High Garden and the food of the plundered Reach. Gold to pay those grasping cunts of the Iron Bank and food to feed the population of Kings Landing so that they don’t riot and inadvertently burn the whole city down.

Not that she cared one whit for the smallfolk of Kings Landing, nor for anyone else for that matter, but if that dragon bitch attacked and looked like she would win she would find herself Queen of nothing but ashes. The wildfire that mad Aerys had stashed under the city was still there, added to by the Pyromancers at her insistence. Wildfire had rid her of that manipulative cunt Margaery Tyrell and had secured her seat on the Iron Throne and it might yet rid her of Daenerys Targaryen, but even if it did not it would still destroy Kings Landing and leave Daenerys with a ruined city and the deaths of hundreds of thousands on her hands.

“So he has thrown his lot in with the Dragon Queen?”

“It would seem so, my agents tell me the Black Legion sailed for Dragonstone several weeks ago.”

“I suppose it would be too much to ask for that Lord Kumonga would betray the Dragon Queen?” asked Cersei rhetorically, taking another sip of wine.

“I, I believe that this is the second time that the Iron Throne asked for the services of the Black Legion your Grace, both times Lord Commander Kumonga refused the request. I believe that as part of the first request, to help defend Kings Landing against Stannis Baratheon a betrothal was sought between the Lord Commander and your daughter Princess Myrcella, along with significant lands and a high Lordship for Lord Commander Kumonga.”

“Yes, and I rejected that offer out of hand, the affront to my and King Joffrey’s honour that a common Sellsword would have the audacity to ask for my daughters hand in marriage was simply too much to bear!”

“And the second time was a mere four moons ago, this time you offered to wed Lord Commander Kumonga yourself, but it was rejected by the leader of the Black Legion.”

“And now he sails for Dragonstone, where no doubt he will make a marriage offer to Daenerys Stormborn, and the foreign whore will no doubt accept his offer!”

She had never met this Lord Commander Kumonga herself of course, instead she had formed a picture of the man from the reports she had of him and his sellsword company, the so called Black Legion. They had come to immediate and shocking prominence with their defeat, no, with their utter destruction of the Golden Company, one of the most, if not the most, famous Sellsword Companies of Essos. Of the man himself he was said to be of Summer Islander stock, very tall and handsome according to accounts, and a skilled, deadly warrior. With Jamie no longer a peerless warrior and having to rely on Ser Robert Strong Cersei did feel the lack of a strong, able warrior at her beck and call. Ser Robert Strong was peerless when it came to defending her but he lacked what Cersei missed the most, a man that she could control with her womanhood. Oh Janie was still in love with her, as he should be, but with him missing his hand, well he no longer fulfilled that other most important function for her. She needed a man she could control, and who would do anything for her, anything to gain access to her golden cunt, anything to lay with her. 

This was why she had made her marriage offer to Lord Kumonga, the more she had heard of him and learned of his and his Black Legion’s exploits, the more she had wanted him and his warriors in her service. More, she wanted Lord Kumonga in her, she had heard the rumours of the size of Summer Islander’s manhood’s, and according to gossip Lord Kumonga was a giant among men in all respects. And ever since she had made her latest offer to the Black Legion her nights had been filled with heated dreams of the Summer Islander ravishing her, dominating her, fucking her with an enormous pillar of jet black flesh, spilling copious loads of his seed from massive stones into her womb and stomach. Every morn she would awake exhausted yet replete, a glow of sexual satisfaction edged with a knowing hunger for the real thing and not just a fantasy. It was probably just as well that Jamie was not present; she did not know if she would be able to fuck her twin while her mind was awash with fantasies of the Summer Islander. She had even briefly considered taking a Summer Islander as a lover, just to see if the rumours were actually true. 

And what if she had accepted the original offer from Lord Kumunga for Myrcella’s hand all those years ago? Well then her sweet daughter would not be dead would she? Not poisoned by those Dornish cunts, and with the Black Legion allied to the Throne her beloved Joffrey might even still be King. And Robb Stark would have been defeated on the field of battle and the Seven Kingdoms would have been at peace under the heel of the Lannister’s, as it should have been. She could have watched with pride as her little girl’s belly would have swelled with Kumonga’s child, knowing that her daughter’s duty to her husband would bind the Sellsword to the Iron Throne, and that there would have been plenty of lands from traitorous Lords to gift the Summer Islander with once the war was won. It was a nice fantasy, but it was just that, a fantasy. 

For it had been her anger at her dwarfish brothers elevation to Hand of the King, his pathetic attempts to take Joffrey’s right to rule away from him, his dalliances with whores and low born cutthroats, all that had annoyed and vexed her, and thus blinded her the potential of Lord Kumonga’s original offer. And so it had slipped away from her, its benefits unrealised, its advantages scorned. And now she was where she found herself, perilously seated atop the Iron Throne and surrounded by enemies, for all who were not her were her foe. She likened her situation to that which her Lord Father had found himself in upon attaining the Lordship of the Westerlands, and like her father she knew how to deal with her enemies, only this time the bards would sing songs about her, and how she defeated the dragon bitch. 

“She may your Grace, or she may not” Qybrun replied, pulling her out of her introspection. “Lord Kumonga is an unknown to Westeros, he is not a noble, he would not be seen to be of sufficient social standing to wed a Targaryen, never mind one who claims the Iron Throne” replied Qyburn softly, trying to mollify her anger, her rage.

“I know she will accept Qyburn, I know how she will react, how she will feel.....I’m sure of it. The silver haired slut will be opening her legs to the Summer Islander with only the merest pretence of resistance. We have destroyed the Tyrells, the Dornish are fallen to infighting and internecine bloodshed, Euron Greyjoy has defeated his sister Yara and eliminated that bitches navy, her Unsullied are trapped in Casterly Rock. She will have no choice but to accept Lord Kumonga’s offer, even if she does not like it. She will use a woman’s weapon, that which resides between her legs to entice and beguile that fool into her bed and under her thumb.”

“On the subject of Euron Greyjoy.......” Qyburn let the sentence trail off, Cersei noticing his nervousness.

Gods she hated that Ironborn fool, but he served a useful purpose, at least for now. Once the Targaryen girl and her dragons were defeated she would deal with Euron Greyjoy once and for all. Wait, why was Qyburn suddenly so reticent to speak?

Cersei turned her gaze more fully on her Master of Whispers, her eyes seeking his out and letting him know that she wanted him to continue.

“It, it appears that Euron Greyjoy and his fleet may have been destroyed, I have reports of numerous ships of the Iron Fleet bearing the sigils of Euron’s fleet were spotted anchored off the Black Legion’s island, but with no sign of their crew.”

“What does that mean Qyburn? Has Euron Greyjoy betrayed us? Has he attacked the Black Legion, weakening it?”

“I do not know exactly your Grace, but this concerns me, Euron Greyjoy should have been back at Kings Landing at least a moon ago, based on the last messages he sent us. With Elaria Martel. Her bastard daughters by Oberyn Martel and his sister as his captives, but we have heard nothing of them, nor has anyone else on the Narrow Sea either. It is as if Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet has disappeared your Grace.”

“He has probably betrayed us and headed back to those rocks he calls home, we can deal with him later Qyburn. Now to other business, the preparations?”

“Well in hand your Grace, my work has progressed mightily since I created Ser Robert Strong, thanks to your most generous support, I have perfected the creation of....similar men of strength, courage and fortitude to match Ser Strong. The first induction of them will be ready in the next day or so, Gods willing.”

“How many?” 

“Twenty five of the sixty one survived the process your Grace, but I have learned much from this and the next batch of ninety four is nearly ready to commence, and I predict that the will be a much higher survival rate.”

“Good, proceed as fast as you can, we will need every advantage when that foreign whore decides to finally try and take my crown! And the defences of Kings Landing?”

“The construction of the large Scorpions is proceeding well; by the turn of the next moon every tower on the walls of Kings Landing will have one.”  
“Good, and other defences of Kings Landing?”

“We have been clearing out the slums and buildings outside the walls your grace, building traps and obstacles to deny any easy approach to the walls from whatever direction the forces of Daenerys Targaryen come from. If we get a good enough warning the wildfire mines can be placed in time to be a nasty surprise” here Qyburn grinned, knowing that his description would please his Queen.

“Much as I despise my traitorous Imp of a brother, he did find novel ways to use wildfire, and pity he is unlikely to let Daenerys fall for the same trick he pulled on Stannis. And the ‘final solution’?”, the code by which she referred to her plan to immolate Kings Landing if it came to it.

“We are working with the Pyromancers to fill the identified locations with caches of the substance your Grace, everything should be ready by the turn of this moon for that.”

“Excellent Qyburn, anything else of note for me?” 

“The cites of Slavers bay have fallen to fighting again, the former cities freed by Daenerys Targaryen are under attack by the Masters of the other slaver cities, unless she returns to Salvers Bay with her forces they will fall within the year I predict.”

“Would that the stupid cunt return to her cities in the East, but I doubt she will, not now, and not seeing where she has positioned herself. No, she wants the Seven Kingdoms and thinks that taking Kings Landing will give her that which she wants.”

“Your Grace, when, when we defeat the Black Legion I would request that as many of the captured Legionnaires be made available to me to, in order to further my studies.....” Qyburn asked of her, his tone almost breathless with ill disguised anticipation.

She despised the man his desires but she needed him and he was her most competent and loyal allay, so she nodded graciously in return “Of course Qyburn, you may even have Lord Kumonga himself to entertain, should we capture him. 

“Your Grace is too kind” the disgraced former Maester cooed in return, twisted desires lighting his eyes at the thoughts of what he could do to their enemies. 

Cersei did not dwell on what Qyburn would do, she had no need to know the specifics, not want to either, she had no need of the details of the depraved workings of her pet Maester. 

She might deny him his request for Lord Kumonga, at least temporally, for she might enjoy the physical attentions of the man, before she had no more use of him. Tempting the Summer Islander with his life in return for him warming her bed would be gratifying no doubt, though it would anger Jamie she knew. But Jamie was not the man he once was, and she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, all men served her and her wishes, and should she wish to fill her bed and her cunt with that Summer Islander Sellsword, then Jamie would just have to obey her wishes, like he always did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Character deaths coming up, don't be salty now.....
> 
> Or, if you are a Demigod and you have all the cheat codes, why not?

In the silence as we wait for Longclaw to be brought to the Throne room Daenerys asks “did you have a pleasant journey to Dragonstone Lord Commander?” her voice melodious and clear, beautiful to listen to really. I looked forwards to when I would hear it screaming, moaning and panting my name as I fucked her.

“I did your grace, my ships are large and swift, the seas were no trouble for them.” 

Because they had better underwater hull lines and more modern sail plans than any of the medieval shite that passes for shipping around here. Add the ability to control the wind and my fleet of black snakes made good progress. Their size and sail plans make them akin to a Barque, but with the fine lines of the American clippers of the mid 19th century. Nevertheless they are a revolution when it comes to sailing, I’d started financing their building with the loot I’d extracted from Myr after I’d absorbed the Golden Company – interesting fact, I could create them ‘out of thin air’ – again so long as I had the material at hand, so on a sparse and barren island in the Stepstones that Tyrosh had gifted me after humbling Myr so completely I’d ‘built’ my fleet.

And who had I decided to eliminate from the Game of Thrones a few weeks ago using said fleet? Why none other than Euron Grejoy, who I had not even bothered to engage in any sort of actual combat with mind you, once we had located the bastard I’d simply opened up my trusty editor and deleted him and all his reavers, leaving their ships drifting aimlessly and thus easily captured and sent back to my base to be used as a handy additional source of materials for building new ships if needed. 

Yara Greyjoy, Elaria Sand and her daughters had been onboard, they unfortunately had been deleted also, such a shame that, but no need to have any of them around to complicate my plans now was there? And before you ask, the ‘delete’ function comes with quite a hefty cool down timer after you use it, and the heftier the more you ‘delete’ with it. I was looking at several decades before I could use it again. Initially I’d been saving it for the Others, but apparently they were immune to it, so I’d been saving it for an appropriate foe, and Euron Greyjoy and his happy band of murderers and rapists fit the bill perfectly. 

With their low, sleek black painted hulls my ships had come to be known as black snakes, that and the fact that the crews mostly had the appearance of Summer Islanders.

“I have heard that you have swept the Stepstones clear of Pirates my Lord Commander?” says Tyrion Lannister, seemingly eager to keep the conversation going. 

“For now yes, but that place will be full to the brim again of pirate scum in a few years, no doubt.”

“I also hear rumours that you killed Euron Greyjoy?”

“I did, we fought, he died” I lie in reply, not that anyone will ever be the wiser as to the exact fate of that motherfucker. “We killed him and all his men, any that surrendered we impaled and once dead I had them burned, we collected their ashes and sent them to the Great Grass sea, where some of my men scattered them.”

Again a blatant lie but one which sounded good, and made me look like a total badass, not that standing seven foot tall and bulging with muscles did not also....I’d disdained armour for this meeting, instead wearing skin tight leather trousers, sturdy black leather boots that were reinforced with a super thin layer of Admantium, a sword belt is strapped around my waist, from it hangs the scabbard of my sword. My shirt is made of thin white cotton, beneath it the bulging, incredible musculature of my stomach and chest can be glimpsed, the arms of the shirt come to just about my elbows, bulging with my upper arms and leaving my oaken hard, heavily veined forearms visible. The shirt is open a few inches down from my throat to reveal a deep and broad chest. My hands are huge; from appraising Danny I was confident I could wrap a single hand fully around her throat, maybe even around her slim waist. A short cloak of black silk hangs from my shoulders, a chain runs over my chest and under one arm to keep it in place, the chain is made from golden links, a bit of flashy bling, because sellswords are supposed to be blinged out, apparently. 

Despite Daenerys’s best efforts I knew she liked what she saw, I was a handsome looking dude, and she was trying very hard not to look at the giant bulge of my cock and balls between my legs. Soon little dragon slut, soon you will be able to gaze all you want, in fact soon you will be face to face with the biggest, blackest cock you will have ever seen. 

Putting aside thoughts of Danny’s luscious lips wrapped around my cock I instead drew my blade, noticing the Dothraki and Jorah tense and reach for their weapons. 

“I cut Euron Greyjoy from neck to hip with this, despite the Valyrian steel armour he wore” again I’m lying my snugly fitted pants off, but it’s all for effect. Admantium could cut Valyrian steel, and was resistant in return to dragonsteel, because that was one of the properties I had specified for it so yeah. And of course it was lethal to wights, ice zombies, Others, all assorted magical bullshit creature of Planetos etc. and the Night King. 

Because why not, this was my game and I as I always say, if you are not cheating, you are not playing The Game of Thrones right. 

Daenerys arches one finely sculpted, silver-gold eyebrow at this “I was under the impression that Valyrian steel was impervious to all blades?” she asked, interest and a certain fear flaring in the depths of her violet eyes.

“The art and magic of Valyrian steel is lost your Grace, the magic that sustained it gone from the world, even with your dragons I fear its secrets are lost to us forever, but I have managed to create new magic, new spells to forge and cast a steel superior to valyrian steel!”

“You claim much Lord Kumonga, I admire your boldness, though perhaps not your arrogance” husked the dragon queen, her eyes darkening as her pupils dilated, her body’s reaction belying her words. Oh, being able to produce Homo Drakensis like pheromones was a definitive plus; my scent was finally having its desired effect on her. I had not turned it up to full volume as it where, nor focused on sexual arousal, instead focusing on radiating power and dominance, which of course the little slut found distractingly attractive. Daenerys squirmed a little on her throne, no doubt due to a sopping wet cunt, my keen vision spied rock hard nipples poking through the material of her dress. 

“Arrogance your Grace?“ I asked, my voice a low purr “no, not arrogance, confidence. I never make claims I cannot back up with actions, never boast of things that I cannot do.” As I speak I advance, the Dothraki make to block my progress but Daenerys waves them away, I ascend the stairs until I am standing at the same level as the throne, Daenerys looks tiny seated on the ancient throne of the Targaryens.

“I am a man of my word your Grace, when I say I will do something I do it, when I say I will take something, I take it...” I leave the implied meaning of my words to hang in the air, noticing how flushed Danaerys’s skin has become, her neck and upper chest has reddened to a delicious shade of pink against her milk pale skin. I still have my blade drawn and yet neither Jorah nor Jon Snow have moved to stop me, my size, my scent, the power I radiate reducing them to the weak fools that they are. Oh and Jon Snow has no blade of course, having been disarmed on landing on Dragonstone.

The old bear loves his Khalessi but the knowledge that he can never have her twists in his gut like a knife; the wolf pup is too craven to profess his feelings and actually do something about them. And so neither will bury their tiny cocks into the cunt of the girl before me, but I will, I’ll fuck this little bitch red raw and make her mine. Then they can listen to her screams and regret all they want while they jerk off. 

Before I can advance any further on her the two horse fuckers return with Longclaw, as they draw it I notice Jorah’s eyes go wide, fuck it, why not “yes Jorah of Bear Island, that is Longclaw, gifted by your father to Jon Snow, to a man worthy of the blade.”

I let a sardonic grin plaster my face as the old bear’s face reddens in anger “well old bear, are you going to show your claws, or did your Hightower whore take your stones with her when she left you?”

Before Daenerys can order us to stop Mormont has his blade out of his scabbard and swings it at me with all of his force. My blade whips up and catches his sword, the strength of my strike along with the magical properties of Admantium slicing his blade in two. I follow through with the strike, angling the cut so that it slices clean through Jorah’s neck just above his armour and out through the top of his neck, his head spinning away trailing blood and eyes forever wide open in stunned surprise. 

“NOOOOOOO!” screams Daenerys, her wail bouncing off the walls of the throne room, as she starts to sob I reach down and grab the cloak from Jorah’s body, tearing it and using it to wipe the blade of my sword, noticing that Jon Snow has grabbed Longclaw and is advancing on me. My blade whips up and meets Longclaw, a sound like a howling screech fills the air as our blades meet.

“ENOUGH!” screams Daenerys Targaryen, who has leapt up from her throne and is rushing to stand between us.

My eyes lock on Jon Snow’s grey ones, my scent pours off me, power, rage and a promise of pain to be inflicted. “Well little doggie, fancy joining the old bear in the Strangers embrace?”

“STOP! I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!!” screamed the Dragon Queen, beating her tiny fists against my chest, her face twisted equally by rage and terror. 

“No man draws live steel on me and lives” I snarl, my gaze and that of Jon Snow locked, only one of us will walk away from this and it’s not going to be the Prince that was Promised. But I take two steps back anyways to give Daenerys space, keeping my blade up and ready for action. 

“Lord Kumonga, if Jon Snow kneels to me, will you spare his life? I ask this as a boon to me, your, your betrothed?” Daenerys pleads, her eyes huge in her chalk white, tear streaked face.

Nice, that was an unexpected but not unwelcome development; I’ll be deep inside that sweet dragon queen pussy sooner than expected, along with her no doubt gloriously tight asshole and spasming, gagging throat. But unfortunately the boy has drawn live steel on me and I have a reputation to uphold, and well this Kit Harrington look alike does have a better claim to the Iron Throne than beautiful, weeping Daenerys here. 

“JON! Jon, please....” pleaded Daenerys, turning her attention from me to Jon Snow, whose face is torn between taking the easy way out and doing what is ‘honourable’. Let’s help him make the right decision shall we? 

“Well are you going to kneel like the boy you are or stand like the man you will never be bastard?” I chortle evilly, adding “I grow tired for waiting for your stones to drop so that you can have the courage to make a decision Snow...” 

He lunges forwards, shouldering Danny out of the way, Longclaw gripped in both his hands, its blade swiping downwards towards me; I meet it with my own, swiping with all my strength and weight behind it. Longclaw goes spinning away out of Jon Snow’s surprised grasp, tumbling off into the distance. His face twists in agony; my blow having shattered his wrists as they gripped Longclaw, his mouth opens to scream in pain. 

But before the pretty boy can let out any sound my left fist slams into his face with all my strength behind it, smashing his nose, teeth, jaws and eye sockets, sinking in a good inch or so into his skull, probably driving shards of cartilage into his brain, most likely killing him. Before the formerly pretty Jon Snow can drop like a sack of potatoes I lash out with a booted foot into his groin, feeling his pelvis shatter at the blow. 

“Who taught you to fight you pathetic little boy?” I ask with a harsh laugh, glee plastered across my face. 

As Jon Snow’s body spins and slumps away from me I step forwards and lightning quick take his head with a strike of my sword.

“This pathetic little boy was no king!” I announce as Jon’s severed head tumbles away from his shoulders, my eyes seeking out Daenerys's huge, shocked ones. 

Jon’s head hits the stone floor face side down with a wet splat sound, flattening as it impacts and not rolling around as heads separated from their shoulders so often do. Dear Melisandre’s little stunt had been all for nothing then eh? Such a shame really, or not as the case may be. 

Reaching down for the discarded scrap of cloth from Jorah’s cloak I clean off my sword again, before thrusting it back into its scabbard at my waist, I turn and survey the throne room, the Dothraki had their Arakh’s out but they were making no move towards me, fear warring with respect on their faces. Good, this was the only way to impress these savages, be more savage than they were. My five Legionnaires all had their swords drawn and had advanced to the base of the steps up to the throne.

I take several steps towards Daenerys Targaryen, towering over the cringing girl “I believe we were talking of a marriage Daenerys Stormborn, how does tomorrow suite you?” I ask, grinning at the terrified girl, reaching down with one hand I grab a fistful of silken sliver gold locks and grin “I like the way you wear your hair Khaleesi, be sure to wear it like this tomorrow, I’d like that.”

The girl quails at my grip, tries to pull away but I’m so much stronger than her, holding her firm by her hair, I see fear blossom across her huge, violet eyes and this makes me glad, the breaking of the Mother of Dragons inches one step closer. 

“Your Queen is in need of a new Army and sound, practical advice Lord Tyrion” I say, the girls gaze still speared by mine “see that her Grace makes the right decision will you?”

With that I release Danny’s hair, turn and make to leave, before turning back to the girl “be sure to wear something with much less cloth in it when we are wed your Grace, anything you wear is unlikely to survive our bedding” I laugh while leering at the tiny silver blonde haired girl with a feral grin plastered on my face.

With that I stride out of the throne room and head back to my fleet, to await the invitation for my wedding to the Mother of Dragons.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition and dealing with a certain Red Witch

Back on board my flagship, the Black Panther I retreat to my cabin, those of my naval and army staff that I have granted some measure of autonomy too have little to report. The fleet rides an anchor outside the great natural harbour of Dragonstone, the weather is placid, and I’m keeping an eye out for any bad weather, which I’ll quash before it gets to be any threat to my fleet. 

Dragonstone is about the size of Corsica and is dominated by the Dragonmount, a still active volcano at its eastern edge. Below the volcano is the hulking bulk of the castle of Dragonstone, which looks more like its show self than any of the faintly ridiculous depictions of it looking like a dragon, or having giant carved dragons adorning it.

However dragon motifs were everywhere inside the castle, which appeared to be made of a shiny, smooth black stone that gleamed in the light and appeared to be as flawless and perfect as the day it was built. No doubt dragon magic, a quick dip into my Command Console had confirmed same.  
The Throne room where I had my meeting with Daenerys Targaryen looked remarkably like that in the show, but as for the rest of the island? Nope, not like the show at all, below the castle was the harbour town of Dragonstone and its massive, wondrous natural harbour. Said harbour was obviously a former volcanic caldera, think those Greek islands that used to be a volcano that collapsed and left behind a near circular ring of islands. Well Dragonstone’s harbour was like that, only attached to the bulk of the island, with a substantial, walled town at the landwards end.  
Over the past few years Dragonstone had suffered a near terminal decline, the War of the Five Kings and its aftermath destroying its trade and livelihood, and as such any smallfolk who could had fled the island, decimating its population.

Dragonstone used to be a tax entry port for Westeros, it was a way for the Prince of Dragonstone, typically the heir to the Iron Throne to gain experience at running a relatively busy and prosperous piece of the Seven Kingdoms. Ships bound for the ports of Kings Landing and any of a myriad of ports along the Crownlands and Stormlands coast could dock at Dragonstone and declare their goods there for taxation purposes, as opposed to at their final destination port. 

The advantages of doing this on Dragonstone as opposed to your actual destination was that the Customs officials at Dragonstone would only ever inspect the cargo manifest and assign taxes on that basis, they would not inspect the actual cargo itself. For this privilege merchants paid a slightly higher tax, but many were willing to do so, as was evidenced from the decaying size and grandeur of the town of Dragonstone.

In addition they had to go ashore with their cargo manifests for inspection and had to spend at least one day either anchored in the harbour or at the dockside, and sailors being sailors they will spend their coin ashore at the earliest opportunity. 

All in all it was a nice little racket that earned the heir and the king a tidy sum down the years. 

Of course Stannis had put a stop to this and had begun the general decline of Dragonstone’s fortunes, with the events from the start of canon putting its economy into a terminal decline. 

Speaking of money matters, as this appeared to be the showverse, or at last a facsimile of it, there was the potential that Casterly Rocks mines were dry. Which would be a catastrophe as the imbalance of trade between Westeros and Essos was utterly unsustainable in a pre fiat currency age. Something that I would have to address at the earliest opportunity no doubt, kick-starting an industrial revolution in Westeros might solve this perennial problem. Or at least getting Westeros to stop exporting raw materials to Essos and paying for finished goods made with those same raw materials. 

Just as well I could magic gold and silver out of nothing, but I’d have to be careful to not cause inflation, again something to think about in the future.

For now I concentrated on the spread of food I found in my cabin, typical eighteenth century sea farers food, but somewhat improved by my experience. Baked salt port, sauerkraut, dried potatoes and peas, wholemeal hardtack and beer, but in a rather larger amount as I needed more calories every day. I consumed about 5000 calories per day, and still often found myself hungry; one of my powers was the ability to create food from handy sources of material, give me a few trees and I could transmute the biomass into something edible, same for any organic mass. Not that I would often eat these ‘iron rations’, but they would do at a pinch, and it was often a staple for my Legionnaires.

For my troops I had worked on a standard template to apply and as a result I had what was essentially an army of clones – but stronger, faster, fitter and quicker than a normal human. Nowhere near me in terms of their prowess, but with their armour and weapons they were infinitely better man for man than any army on Planetos, even the Unsullied. Throw in absolute loyalty and a lack of fear and you have the ultimate weapon outside of Dragons for conquering and holding territory. 

And where did my troops come from? Well initially I’d just used any old stock of human males I could get my hands on, slaves mostly originally. The Golden Company had been the basis of the initial growth from Company to Legion size, I had used magic to trap them and kill enough to corral them before I had set to work mass converting the Golden Company into the Black Legion. Using the Control Console I’d spent the best part of over a day editing and changing, and creating suitable equipment for them. And so the Black Legion had marched away from the so called ‘battle’ and the Golden Company had ceased to exist.

Some of the better and more skilled leaders of the Golden Company were allowed to retain some of their individuality; they became the Optios, Centurions, Merarchs and Triarchs of the Black Legion. And that was the main method by which the Legion had grown, absorbing any of the enemy that survived fighting us, often times a mass surrender was the result of a battle against us and a corresponding increase in the size of the Black Legion.

My Navy was slightly different; individuality was a more necessary trait among sailors than was needed among massed ranks of infantry. Initially I’d hired sailors and from an amalgamation of the best skills and traits of them I’d created a skills package for my sailors. Without saying said skills package had the same loyalty imprint as that of the soldiers, but as a little additional nod to my heritage I’d recruited exclusively Summer Islanders, even going so far as to buy Summer Islander slaves and turning them into sailors. I’d also put out advertisements for sellswords and sellsails to join the Black Legion, to mixed success it had to be said. That rogue Salladhor Saan had come a knocking looking for some easy pickings and had suffered to find his pirate fleet added to my own fleet, with his sailors forming the bulk of my new fleet’s crews. 

Finishing my meal I pushed my chair back and I opened up the Command Console, using it to keep an eye on various things - the defences of Kings Landing, the location of the growing caches of wildfire Cersei was stockpiling for her mad plan of burning down Kings Landing. Jamie’s trek across the Reach with his plunder was nearing where they would be in easy range of a Dragon strike, which would be coming right up soon enough.   
Daenerys, thanks to my gifts of upgrades to her had unparalleled levels of control over her three Dragons, they were now effectively a PGM equipped air force under her direct control. It was not warging exactly, but close enough for government work as they say. 

And thanks to some of the upgrades for her that I had ‘invented’ her Dragons were also bigger than in canon, Drogon was about 25% bigger and the other two nearly 50% bigger. And with her control over them they could be used to carry small numbers of troops for precision strikes, so I and about a hundred of my elite Black Legionnaires, who I had christened The Wraiths would be joining Danny and I on a quick flight to destroy the Lannister column once it got within range. 

The Wraiths were a cut above the normal Black Legionnaires, roughly double their stats and traits again, and they acted as my personal bodyguard and as core of utterly unstoppable heavy infantry if required. Though things would have to be pretty desperate if I needed to bring them into battle as a last resort, and they would assist in dealing with any leftovers after the three dragons had burnt the Lannister army in a second field of fire. They would also assist in rounding up any of the Gold of Highgarden that was not melted into puddles for shipment on the backs of the Dragons back to Dragonstone.

I did not need said gold due to, well, cheating, but there was no need to tell anyone that, and it would be suspicious if we did not try and come back with some loot.

Closing down the Console I pondered what to do for the rest of the day, when there was a knock on my cabin door, announcing that I had a visitor.  
Interesting, I called for them to be admitted and Melisandre of Asshai was ushered into my presence, all red silks, ruby choker, flaming red hair and beautifully shaped tits barely contained in her dress. She’s a dead ringer for that Dutch actress that plays her in the show. 

Well now, this might be a tad awkward eh? Seeing as how I’d just sent Azor Ahai to the Stranger’s Halls. 

But thankfully I had been alive to the possibility of this bitch fucking things up as per canon so I’d been at pains to make sure that her so called ‘visions’ were as vague as possible with regard to my good self. A through de-buff of Mel’s powers, such as they were looked like they had been successful, I mean lopping of Jon Snow’s pretty but empty head had happened, something I doubt Mel would have stood for had she seen it coming. 

“Melisandre of Asshai, what can I do for you?” I ask, keeping my voice calm, if needs be I can have the Command Console up in a second if she tries anything untoward.

“Lord Commander Solomon Kumonga” she replies coolly, regarding me with haughty disdain, saying nothing else as she stared hard faced at me.  
“And what brings you to me this day?” I ask, getting tired of being sneered at by this bitch. 

“Solomon Kumonga, if that is even your name” she spat “you have sorely angered the Lord of Light by your actions, you have incurred his wrath, and I am here to deliver it!”

Uh Oh – Console time! 

And not a second too soon as it pops up and time freezes, and I can assess the situation. Okay, looks like Mel has decided that I had to die, and she was planning to carry out the hit herself, and with fire, because of course. She was pumped and primed with magic to self combust, not before hosing me down with some sort of magical fire also. She was obviously not planning on surviving this, a kamikaze decapitation strike against me.   
After some frantic digging in the Command Console and I’ve neutralised Mel’s attack and cut her off from accessing her powers. She’s not a very powerful magic user, and has utterly no defence against me stripping her of her powers, but I’ll let the glamour of her choker still work, no sense in having her true form revealed.

Once I’m satisfied that I have things under control I close down the Command Console and wait to see what will happen.

With a smile of evil triumph Melisandre throws her arms forwards and screams in a paroxysm of ecstasy “Begone you fiend, back to the darkness that spawned you, let the Lord of Light’s vengeance end you!” 

When nothing happens Melisandre’s face collapses into shock, emotions chasing across her face in an almost comical profusion “what?” she croaks, shrinking back from me, her face now a rictus of terror.

“What, what are you?” she asks, her voice raw and terrified, as she cowers back from me, stumbling in her haste to try and put distance between herself and me.

I stand up and walk around the table, she tries to run but I’m on her too quickly for her to escape, grabbing a fistful of hair she screeches as I grab at her dress and tear it to shreds, revealing a body of pale perfection. A testament to the Lord of Light’s magic and I know that a hideous crone lurks beneath the glamour that she wears, but that does not stop my lust from raging and demanding an outlet.

Something warns me not to grab at her throat, that fiercely glowing ruby in her choker would probably burn my hand. Instead I bunch up her hair in my hand and grab her by an arm pushing her forwards before me.

“You believed that Stannis Baratheon was Azor Ahai, but he died. You then convinced yourself that Jon Snow was Azor Ahai, even going so far as to bring the boy back from death, but then I cut his head from his shoulders. To lose one Azor Ahai seems unfortunate, to lose two looks like carelessness to me Melisandre of Asshai” I snarl, bringing my face close to hers, noticing that fear and doubt warred for dominance in her blood red eyes.

Before she could say anything in reply I propelled her as hard as I can head first into the wooden bulkhead at the fore end of my cabin, hearing the sound of her skull shattering and the wet splashing sound of brain matter being ejected from Melisandre’s skull.

I smash her head into the bulkhead several more times until there is pretty much nothing left above her lower jaw but an unrecognisable mass of shattered bone, bloodied hair and pulped brain matter. 

Satisfied that the bitch is dead I call for my guards, explaining that the body is to be chopped into small pieces and taken out in a row boat and dumped at sea. Also my cabin is to be cleaned up of the blood, bone fragments and brain matter that has splattered all over the place, and all over me I notice.

I stride up on deck and grab a bucket on a rope and lower it over the side, hauling up seawater, I plonk this on the deck and strip off my probably destroyed clothes and dunk the bucket of seawater over my head, repeating this process several times until I feel somewhat clean.   
One less threat to me dealt with in this shithole universe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and her Hand plot

“Your Grace, we really should give Lord Kumonga a response to his....proposal” said her Hand, his voice pitched softly to be just heard above the crackling of the flames in the fireplace that they were sitting beside. She held a glass of wine in her hand, as did Lord Tyrion, a carafe of wine stood on a small table off to one side of Lord Tyrion’s chair.

The pair of them were alone in her private chambers, she had dismissed Missandei, the girl having become hysterical after the events in the Throne room. She was no longer able to offer anything but ever increasingly hysterical pleas to kill Lord Kumonga. The girl had needed milk of the poppy to get her to calm down and to get some much needed sleep, and her heart pained for Missandei, so terrified did the girl appear of Lord Kumonga. Not that she could fully blame her, the big Summer Islander had essentially murdered two of her vassals in her presence, for what appeared to be nothing. Well only Jorah was sworn to her, but she was sure that Jon Snow would have come around to bend the knee. And when she pondered it in detail, Lord Kumonga had provoked both men into fighting him, and both had been foolish enough to respond to his taunts. 

Daenerys sighed, her heart heavy and all her tears by now shed, they had given over the bodies of Jorah and Jon Snow to the small contingent of the Silent Sisters for preparation before their bones would be sent back to the North. Would the North willingly bend the knee to her after the death of their King, or would it require more wars to be waged to bring it into her kingdom? The North had never been conquered, like Dorne, it had surrendered to the rule of the Dragons, and she wondered if Sansa Stark would surrender the North to her? Would her claim, her blood, her Dragons be enough to sway the girl, the half sister of Jon Snow. 

The North had proclaimed Jon Snow, a bastard, King of the North, ignoring Sansa Stark as Ned Stark’s eldest surviving child, and she wondered how Sansa Stark felt about that. Mayhaps there was an angle to exploit there, to confirm that the Starks of the future would be of Lady Sansa’s blood, if she made Lady Sansa the lady Protector of the North, or maybe even a Princess, in the same manner as the Dornish still had Princes and Princesses? Something to ponder no doubt, she would ask Lord Tyrion about it, he after all had been married to the girl, though he had sworn that he never consummated the marriage. 

If Sansa Stark could not be made to see sense then a war was the only option, she would not have part of her realm in open defiance of her rule like that. She hated the thoughts of more war. Of more wars than what was absolutely necessary, but Lord Kumonga certainly seemed to love war, or was it that he loved killing and cruelty? For had not his butchery of Ser Jorah and Jon Snow had been so unnecessary, so brutal and so shocking in its suddenness?

But after she had cried and sobbed until there was no more left in her she had asked for her Hand’s presence, she was a Queen and she had decisions to be made, irrespective of her own feelings on the matter. And what of her own feelings a traitorous little voice inside her head whispered, was not Lord Kumonga a tall, strong and handsome man, so much more confident than anyone she had ever met, even her Sun and Stars could not match the sheer presence and power that the Summer Islander Lord radiated like an oven. 

He would certainly be able to protect her, and with his Black Legion, the Dothraki and her Dragons Kings Landing would fall to her much sooner than she had hoped for. But what of the so called Army of the Dead that Jon Snow had been so fearful of? Would anyone in the South believe the warnings from the North now with their King slain? Was this even a real threat or some fantastical plot by the North? Ser Davos did not think so, but after he had accompanied the bodies to the Sept of the Silent Sisters he had retired to his quarters and was indisposed to talk on any matter of importance.

“We should my Lord Hand” she replied, her voice sounding dull to her ears, her heart heavy, for once again, despite being the Mother of Dragons, despite all she had done, she was being sold to a powerful man for politics. That she was selling herself scarcely matter one bit, she was once again effectively powerless, and her powerlessness had been cruelly demonstrated by the Summer Islander Lord, who could have cut her down as easily as he had Jorah and Jon Snow. 

Her Dragons were no help to her; they would only have given her vengeance had she wanted to, not prevented the slaughter in her throne room. This man, this Lord Kumonga wanted her, of that she was certain, the look of lust and desire in his eyes had been unmistakable, but he wanted to own her, to dominate her, of that she was sure. And he lusted after the Iron Throne, another thing that she was sure of, despite having no blood claim to it, he wanted to either sit upon it himself or for his children to sit upon it. Well she would have to gladly disappoint Lord Kumonga on that point, seeing as how she was barren, but there was no need to tell him that yet, or ever if necessary. 

He had overreached himself, of that she was certain, killing so casually, so wantonly, failing utterly to hide his lusts and bestial nature, of which Missendei had warned her of so heatedly. And she would deal with him for that, but all in good time, for there were other matter to attend to in the meantime. 

She pondered the actions of Lord Kumonga - Killing Jorah had been to remove a trusted advisor, even something of a friend, despite his previous treason, from her side. Killing Jon Snow removed the most powerful rival for her hand in marriage, for marrying the King in the North would have brought much to her cause. In eliminating both men Lord Kumonga had isolated her, cut her off from what was known and trusted to her, and she wondered why Lord Tyrion was still alive.

Did the big Summer Islander not think the dwarf Lord to be any threat to him; did he discount his size and lack of martial prowess? She wondered about that, was Lord Kumonga stupid in that manner, like many men would be? She did not know the Lord Commander of the Black Legion well enough to make any definitive judgement either way, but she was thankful that Lord Tyrion was still alive.

“Though I wonder Lord Tyroin, why are you still alive? Why did Lord Kumonga not butcher you also?” Daenerys asked of her hand, her gaze lingering on the flames of the fire, their pattern soothing to her frayed mind.

“I did not raise my sword to him your Grace” her Hand replied somewhat ironically and with a levity that belied the gravity of the situation.

“You don’t have a sword to raise” she quipped, letting the slightest of smiles tug at the corners of her lips.

“Exactly” Tyrion responded instantly, some mirth evident in his voice.

“But still my question remains, does it not?”

“It does your Grace; Lord Kumonga has eliminated one of your most trusted advisors, along with the King in the North. Ser Jorah, given his.....feelings towards you would not have looked too kindly on a match with Lord Kumonga, especially given his lack of status in Westeros. And Jon Snow, despite his bastard birth was the King in the North, and with some gentle persuasion he would have come round to bending the knee to you. Marriage between the two of you was not an outright impossibility either, and would have swung the largest of the realms behind your cause, and at a stroke might have removed the thorny issue of the North’s independence.”

“Unfortunately marriage to the King in the North is rather a moot point now Lord Tyrion” she sighed, her throat tight with anger and grief.

“Hrmm, yes, well anyway, that Summer Islander knew exactly what he was doing when he butchered Ser Jorah and Jon Snow your Grace.”

“I fear he did, but again, why did he spare you in that case?”

“Maybe he plans to kill me at your wedding tomorrow? Make me part of some barbarian gift to his new bride” the dwarf said, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for more wine, as usual her Hand was not stinting on his favourite pastime, enjoying the gentle balm of the fruit of the vine.

“Unlikely” she scoffed, not knowing why she found that thought ridiculous. “And you assume I will be marrying him....”

“Won’t you?” Tyrion asks, surprise writ large on his bearded face.

Daenerys raised a single eyebrow in question to her Hand, inviting him to comment further. 

“Let me see, you have lost a goodly portion of your support, lost a fleet that was pledged to serve you. Your main fighting force, the Unsullied are trapped on the other side of the continent from you. Our supplies are rapidly running out and we lack the ships to supply us here, we have limited options open to us, which you must know, as does Cersei unfortunately.”

“And?” she asked her hand to continue, sipping at her wine, her eyes seeking out Tyrion’s face, to see if his thought would be betrayed there.

“And? And the only option seems to be this alliance with Lord Kumonga, we appear to be presented with no options at all.”

“Exactly” purred Daenerys Stormborn “no options at all......”

“Your Grace?” he asked, puzzled by his Queen, though he had never been able to understand the hearts and minds of women, this did seem mightily odd behaviour. 

“What does Kumonga want Tyrion, what does he desire?”

“You I would have thought your Grace, that much is obvious.....”

Daenerys smiled at him, but it never reached her eyes “oh he wants me alright, my name, my body, my throne, and my womb.......”

“But? Ahhhh, I see....”

“Do you Lord Tyrion, do you?” Daenerys asked her voice as cold as the winds of the North, of which he had no inconsiderable experience. “I will wed this barbarian; his troops will give me Kings Landing and he may even enjoy his victory, or what he thinks is his victory. And once I sit upon the Iron Throne and my rule is stable, then what need do I have for a half savage barbarian then? And I doubt he is immune to dragon fire?”

“I would assume not your Grace” Tyrion replied, mulling over his Queens words. A dangerous strategy, for if this Komunga was half as smart as he was violent and ruthless he would certainly know that he was expendable once Daenerys had taken the Iron Throne. And in this one instance his Queen being barren was a positive advantage, for Kumonga would sire no heirs on her. And in the probably short time that he was the Queen’s Prince Consort he was unlikely to realise that Daenerys was incapable of bearing children. 

“Your thoughts Lord Tyrion?” his Queen asked, sipping her wine.

“Audacious, it’s certainly audacious your Grace, but we will have to remove the possibility of the stain of kinslaying from this affair, will we not?”

“My husband to be is a violent man my Lord Hand, he may prove easy to provoke to anger directed at my person, my children would not take kindly to such threats to me. I would not burn in their dragonfire but Lord Kumonga? He has no blood of Old Valyria in his veins I would wager.”

“Still, the timing would have to be right, and we would have to seek to gain the loyalty of the Black Legion beforehand, or at least be sure they would not seek vengeance for their Lord Commander.”

“I will leave that up to you and Lord Varys to move with the utmost caution on this matter Lord Tyrion.”

“Your Grace” he replied, bowing his head to hide a little smile, the girl was growing sharp teeth, she would be a magnificent Queen, of that he was certain. 

“And always remember Lord Tyrion, your Queen will never abdicate or supplicate herself to some foreign savage. I am the Mother of Dragons, no man is my equal.”

Tyrion bowed his head again in agreement with his Queen,

“Now leave me, I have much to prepare, please inform Lord Kumonga that I accept his marriage proposal and that we will be wed tomorrow at dusk in the Sept of the castle.”

“Your Grace” Tyroin repeated as he bowed and left her chambers, outside the afternoon was rapidly turning towards dusk, in but a mere day she would be wed again, and to her third husband she mused. The first had been a savage, the second had been meek and stupid and the third? Well a savage once again, of that she was certain, but he would have his uses, and he might even provide some interesting diversion while they were wed. 

He had asked that she wear her hair as she had today, two braids from her temples to the back of her head, where they merged to form a single, thick braid down the back of her hair, with two smaller braids paralleling the larger one at the back. This left the bulk of her hair free to cascade down her back in thick waves, with a few stray strands left at the front to frame her face and soften the look. 

She did like her hair in this style she had to admit, and Lord Kumonga had asked specifically for it, so she would humour him in this regard.

She would humour him in his request for a wedding gown with less material in it, both to titillate the big Summer Islander and because she was sure he would rip any clothing from her body in his carnal lust to bed her. So the less material in her dress the less there was to be ruined by the rutting pig’s desires, she strode over to the room that held her wardrobe and began searching for a suitable dress.

After some debate over three potential gowns she made her choice, it was made from crimson cloth with black stitching and it fit her body like a glove, straps of the same black material crossed under her teats and up to her shoulders, where the shoulders were stiffened to stick out. The black band of material crossed down the back of the dress, delineating the opening at the back as it did at the front. A short, integral cloak hung from the shoulders of the dress, clasped by two small sliver dragon heads, which had a chain of sliver dangling between them, helping to close the upper part of the dress tight to ones body. The skirt of the dress was slashed up either side to mid thigh, its hem hanging significantly lower at the back than it did at the front.

Well it certainly met the criteria for having less material in it, of that she was sure. She could see herself wearing this dress, with the big savage unable to take his eyes from her, as it should be. 

Yes, this dress would be just perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More exposition and the lovely Ros

It was hilarious listening in on the conversation between Daenerys and the Imp, because there was no way I was not taking advantage of every possible scrap of information or advantage that my powers gave me. 

I was not in the least bit surprised that they were already plotting against me; this was the Game of Thrones after all, nor was I disappointed either, it showed that neither of them were fools, and I had no time for fools. Tyrion would make a decent Hand, and I might even eliminate his dwarfism as a bonus to bind him totally to me, I’m sure that turning Tyrion in to a strapping six footer would earn for me his undying loyalty. 

But the problem with impressing loyalty onto people via changing their traits and attributes was that it was a rather blunt instrument, fine if you wanted blindly loyal soldiers, but not if you wanted smart and devious minds giving you advice. Which was why my edits of Daenerys Targaryen was going to concentrate on the physical as opposed to the mental, I’d already modified her body to be perfect for my tastes, now to further tweak it so that I would turn Daenerys into a perfect little cock slave of mine. 

What it would boil down to was me essentially having given myself pheromones that mimicked the effects of Homo Drakensis pheromones, but I’d also added the pheromone effects of the X-Serum from Stormbringers E&I universe, sure why not, along with some of the other physical effects of the X-Serum, because they were of course far too good to give up. 

So beautiful little Danny now had to look forwards to a good eight fluid ounces for an average load, containing a billion swimmers, all pushed out at a velocity of a good forty miles an hour from a twelve inch cock as thick as her arm. Which could get super hard as opposed to only semi hard as some of the larger gentlemen in Porn were capable of (I’m looking at you Jack Napier and Shane Diesel). A set of balls that rivalled large apples in size swung at the base of my cock, hanging low in a hefty ball sack, all in all I was going to easily dominate Danny, like I had every other female I had set my sights on. My magic abilities had even allowed me mimic the effects of the drug X-Cite from the E&I universe so Danny stood no chance at all.

All her thoughts of betraying me would melt after a few good fucks and once she was knocked up they would disappear completely, of that I was confident. Multiple, earth shattering orgasms and sex that lasts for nigh on an hour with a huge cock tends to reduce even the most stubborn woman to putty in ones hands I had discovered.

The noble women of the Free Cities had been a favourite target of my lusts while in Essos, and more than a few of them had succumbed to my charms, basically anyone I set my sights on was getting fucked by me. Magic, or in this case the ability to edit reality, was like that you know, it had a way of making ones dreams come true.

When Danny left Tyrion I observed her pick out her dress for tomorrow and I was delighted, it was absolutely perfect, better than perfect if that was possible, and it gave me a powerful hard on. Well there was only one way to deal with that now wasn’t there?

And why no harem you ask? Well, I had indulged; of course I had, indeed a few days after converting the Golden Company in to the Black Legion I had come across a slave trader making his way inland from Myr. Apparently I had not been thought of as a threat so the countryside was little prepared for our advance. The slave trader himself was a hugely corpulent sack of flesh, and his wares consisted of several hundred assorted slaves being driven to an auction in one of the larger towns that dotted the Latifundium like landscape of the Myrish interior.

His assorted slaves were a mixed bag, agricultural workers mostly, with a scattering of craftsmen and tradesmen, any with relevant skills were absorbed into the Auxilia, what I was calling the support units of the Legion, the ‘tail’ to the Legions ‘teeth’. They got an overlay of loyalty and a modest physical upgrade, but only those who were without their families, I had no time, want nor need for the sort of ‘camp followers’ that trailed around after armies, and especially Sellsword companies.

Families, women and children were a dilemma, Essos was a slavery based economy, and many, if not all of the slaves had been born to the life of servitude. So there was really nothing to do with them, I was hundreds of miles inland and in the middle of a continent steeped in slavery to its very core. The majority of his coffle, the mostly single men, became Legionnaires, not by any choice of theirs, but ironically with a fair chance of a better standard of life that they could have otherwise expected, and they had been slaves anyway. All I took from them was their free will and autonomy, and in return I gave them strength and purpose. My purpose, but as I said, probably a better life than they would otherwise have had.

The slaver had objected to me appropriating his property, but I ignored him completely and just had him impaled, ignoring his screams and wailing as I concentrated on the real prize of his wares, fourteen pure blooded teenaged beauties of the Old Blood of Valyria. They had been purchased by some Noble with more money that he knew what to do with; all trained as bed slaves in Lys and each one more stunning than the next.

A readymade harem, and it had just fallen into my lap, so I did what anyone in my position would do. I worked my way through the harem for the rest of the day and all that night, going from one to the other silver haired beauty, never stopping, never stinting, until even my balls were thoroughly drained. My new paramours, exquisitely trained as they were in the arts of love were no doubt expecting me to be able to fuck every one of them multiple times without pause, nor that each one of them would be subjected to mind shattering orgasms with such frequency. 

When we moved off the next morning they had all pleaded to stay in my service, so I said yes, I mean fourteen stunning looking women begging you to fuck them on a regular basis, how could I say no?

I had probably acquired my taste for Valyrian pussy from this experience, my harem accompanying me on many a campaign, as I was loathe to be without the delights of so much professionals at my beck and call. But for now my lovelies resided on my island in the Stepstones, which I had named Nubia, in the fortress and garrison I had built there, no sense on bringing them along, when I had the attentions of the lovely Ros to enjoy, and she was much less conspicuous than fourteen semi naked silver haired stunners.

Ros had become a firm favourite of mine, to the annoyance of my Valyrian blooded harem, who had even tried to have Ros poisoned, which resulted in a quick application of some loyalty overlays on my bed warmers. Something which I had failed to do before then, seeing as they had shown no inclination to leave my service, nor displease me in any way, in or out of bed.

It was probably the fact that I saw Ros as a ‘real person’ and that she looked like her character in the show, and acted like her also, despite being totally enslaved to my big black cock Ros retained her personality and sense of humour. 

Ros had a cabin adjacent to mine; I got up and knocked on the wooden bulkhead, alerting Ros to my requirements, a few minutes later she sashayed in, all gauzy silks and scorching looks.

“My Lord” she purrs at me, her voice heavy with tones of seduction and desire, looking at me through hooded eyes, her tongue darting to wet her delicious lips.

“I am to be married tomorrow Ros, to Daenerys of House Targaryen” I say, watching her reaction closely.

Consummate professional that Ros is she simply gives me a smile and husks “congratulations my Lord.” 

“I think that I should not approach my wife with stones heavy with seed though, I fear I might spill too soon for her liking, would you be able to assist me with draining my stones somewhat Ros?” I ask, a grin breaking out on my face.

“Why of course my Lord, it would be a pleasure” purrs Ros in reply, quickly disrobing as she took two steps towards me and sinking gracefully to her knees before me. 

She unlaced my trousers and pulled them and my smallclothes down, letting my rapidly hardening cock spring free. 

Looking up at me Ros licked her lips slowly, lavisciously, one hand reaching out, fingers outstretched to gently angle my cock in line with her mouth, letting just the very tips of her fingers touch the underside of my cock. Pouting her lips she gently pressed a kiss on the tip of my cock, before opening her mouth and sliding her lips up and over the wide, flared head, sucking in her checks to make a tight seal. Her tongue lashed at the sensitive underside as her lips slid up and over the hard ridge of my cockhead, her hand slid down my shaft, to cup my heavy balls.

“Ahhhhh” I moaned, looking down at Ros as her eyes closed and she gave a contended, long drawn out moan from a mouth stuffed with my cock.  
Back and forth Ros bobbed her head, twisting her head from side to side, fondling my balls gently while her tongue darted, teased and lapped around the swollen head of my cock, working me up with exquisite pleasure form the sensations that her lips and tongue were producing. 

After a few minutes Ros began to take me progressively deeper into her mouth and then into her throat, even for a whore as experienced as Ros I was a mouthful, my size still a challange after all these years. I could have modified Ros to be able to accommodate my considerable length and girth with greater ease, as I had done for my harem, and which I was still debating if I should do it for Daenerys, but I had not.

Ros’s dedication to her art and her determination to deep throat me had been a delight from the start, as were the sounds of Ros gagging and struggling as she forced me deeper and deeper into her throat. Why ruin such a beautiful thing I thought, and so Ros had to brave my cock on her own as it where every time I had need of her skilled mouth. Which was very often, like I said, she was probably the best cock sucker I’d ever come across, even better than those Valyrian bed slaves that I was so fond of. Ros applied a genuine joy and enthusiasm to sucking my cock, and it showed in how enjoyable I found them.

While I had been thinking about this Ros had been steadily going deeper, the liquid sounds of her struggling with the massive flesh pole in her throat music to my ears, until finally she made it to her destination. Ros buried her nose into the dense, dark curls at the root of my cock and inhaled deeply, moaning wantonly at my scent, she was well used to it now and craved its powerful, arousing effects. That and the fact that I was shoved all the way down into her throat, I let out a shuddering moan, no matter how often Ros did this I still loved it, and I’d probably never tire of this.

Letting Ros get on with what she knew I liked I kept my eyes fixed on the girls bobbing head, reaching down to grab a handful of her hair, there was never any need to force Ros, she knew what she was doing and what I liked. But I liked to grab her by the hair and sometimes thrust in tune with the movements of her head, especially as I found myself nearing my orgasm, which would not be for a while yet, another advantage of the E&I universe upgrade package I’d gifted myself here on Planetos. 

Ros noisily slurped and sucked on me, gagging, gasping and gurgling to her heart’s content, several times removing her mouth completely to suck and lick at my balls, unable to take them into her mouth due to their size.

Eventually I sensed my orgasm building, a steady build up of delicious pressure in my groin, that went on and on before it escaped from my control and I came explosively in Ros’s mouth. The pleasure from having orgasms equivalent to those of the enhanced makes of the E&I universe is incredible, the sheer amount of cum that blasts from my cock, along with its speed is indescribable.

Shuddering as I pumped away into her mouth, roaring out my delight at the torrent of semen blasting pleased that Ros was not letting a single drop spill from her mouth, despite the volume and force of my ejaculate. But then she did have long and extensive experience of sucking my cock and knew that I would be displeased were she to not swallow all my cum.

Once I had finished cumming Ros continued to lavish delicate licks and kisses on the head of my cock, which barely lost any of its hardness, and which was definitely not suffering from any refractory period.

Popping my cock out of her mouth Ros smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling despite the dull light of my cabin.

“I fear there is much more where that came from my dear Ros, we have a long night ahead of us my dear” I grinned at the girl, who responded by hopping up onto my bead on her hands and knees with her shapely arse pointed in my direction.

I could see her cunt glistening with moisture and smell the scent of her arousal, and I was not going to turn down an invitation like that, now was I?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys gets Blacked

The day that would be her wedding saw her waking early and taking Drogon for a flight, the great beast was somewhat subdued, mayhaps he sensed his mistresses unease. Though she looked outwardly calm and settled inside her stomach was knotted and tense, and her mind fretted.  
Not the normal fretting of a bride to be, no not that, instead she wondered instead of the capture of Kings Landing and her finally getting to sit atop the Iron Throne. She gave no thought to what would happen after the wedding, of the depravities that Kumonga’s lust would see visited upon her, she would take them in her stride, for she was a Dragon, and she would never break, Kumonga might think he possessed her body, but her would not, and more importantly, he would never have her mind. 

And when the time came for it he would be disposed of, cast aside and forgotten. She smiled at that thought, his arrogance and pride would blind him to his downfall, of that she was certain. And once her Hand and her Master of Whispers had delivered up the Black Legion, then Solomon Kumonga would regret ever presuming to wed a Dragon!

With these pleasant thoughts she relaxed and went over some of the administrative work that had come to her as the new ruler of Dragonstone, tedious stuff but she completed it nonetheless, Lord Tyrion being of the opinion that it was good practice for ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and she agreed with her Hand.

She ate some fruit and cheese for her lunch, washed down with a single cup of wine, then worked on into the afternoon, before ceasing her work and starting on her preparations for the wedding. 

A leisurely bath followed, she soaked in the herb and oil scented water, luxuriating in the scalding heat, Dragonstone had baths heated by the fires of the dragon mount. These particular baths were well appointed and large, and she had then to herself as she let the heat soak into her, relaxing and recharging her.

Afterwards she was dried off and her body anointed with scented oils, her hair being done up to how she specified it, Missandei being sullenly silent during all of these preparations, which annoyed Daenerys, but she put the girl from her mind. Now was no time for any regrets, she was being forced once more into marriage, but it would be the last time she swore to herself, when she sat atop the Iron Throne no man would rule her, or even presume to rule her, ever again.

At the appointed hour she moved off with her guards and Lord Tyrion, to the sept of Dragonstone, for her wedding to Lord Solomon Kumonga. As part of the deal that had been arranged she would not be giving up her name when she wed, on that she had been obstinate, which the Summer Islander had agreed to with no quibbles. Rather too easily she had noted, and her suspicions had been aroused by this too easy concession which Lord Kumonga had given her. Lord Tyrion had worried that there was little legal precedent for such an arrangement, with the husband normally taking the brides name in order to preserve a Hosue. She had flat out rejected this, she would not be giving the Targaryen name to some scummy sell sword, no matter how desperate she was for an Army! 

Exiting the main keep she was surprised by the serried ranks of the Black Legion drawn up in perfect order, leaving a pathway for her and her entourage to make their way to the Sept.

“Not intimidating at all” whispered Lord Tyrion, his face set and staring ahead.

Crass, that’s what it was, such an overt display of power, to think that her husband to be sought to intimidate her like this, well that was just another black mark against him to her mind.

Entering the Sept Tyrion led her to Lord Kumonga, who stood beside a heavily perspiring and obviously very nervous Septon.

The man himself was finely dressed, brown leather boots to mid calf, dark green, almost black trousers, with lather reinforcement on the instep. A doublet of the same colour material, with a high collar and two rows of golden buttons down the front completed his clothes; a scarlet silk sash was bound at his waist, over which he wore a sword belt, with the scabbard of his sword hanging from it.

His garb looked simple, severe even, certainly he did not look like a High Lord of Westeros, or at least what Daenerys thought a High Lord of Westeros would look like. But then again he was not a High Lord of Westeros, and he would never be one either, he was a savage Sellsword who had ridden his luck as far and as high as he could.

Remembering her part in the mummers farce she gave her husband to be a big smile as she was led to stand before him, having to angle her head back up to meet his eyes, she felt tiny, insubstantial against his hulking size. 

As she had expected she saw lust in his dark eyes, his obvious desire burning fiercely in his black pupils, his face twisting into arrogant smirk as she gazed up at him. And Daenerys Stormborn felt a tiny shiver of fear trickle down her back like ice water when her gaze met that of Lord Kumonga.

The Septon cleared his throat and commenced droning on, she barely heard any of his words, only making the appropriate responses as required, instead she squirmed as an uncomfortable heat sank into her body, making a sheen of sweat come to her brow. This heat seemed to pool in her belly, in the nipples of her teats and between her legs, her womanhood dampening to a sodden, aching slit.

Her wedding dress was made of light silks, she should not be so hot in it, the gown having been originally commissioned during her time in Slavers bay. She had also foregone smallclothes, a part of her mind delighting in the thoughts of teasing Kumonga with the fact that she was totally naked under the thin material of her dress. Now she regretted this decision, she could feel dampness slowly soaking her groin and inner thighs, and as Kumonga finally placed his cloak over her shoulders she nearly shuddered from how sensitive all her skin seemed to have become.

There was little ceremony afterwards, instead they retreated to the Great Hall for a feast, as many of the High Born as remained on Dragonstone were invited to attend. Still it was a rather thin attendance for the wedding of a Queen she mused, as she was led to the high table by her new husband. He had held her hand in his ever since they had been pronounced man and wife, her white hand tiny in his huge, black one. When he had first took her hand she had jumped at the contact, a pleasurable spasm shuddering through her, leaving tiny intense pinpricks of bliss crawling all over her skin.

When the big Summer Islander had bent down to kiss her she had tilted her head up and closed her eyes, his lips touching hers seeming to make her lips feel as if they were on fire as he roughly kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth to briefly stab and probe her mouth. After twirling and exploring her mouth he withdrew his tongue and lips, leaving her heaving and breathless, her skin flushed and tingling.

Even now, several hours later and with the wedding feast, such as it was, in full swing, Daenerys squirmed uncomfortably beside her new husband, her core thoroughly heated and sodden, her nipples rock hard and painfully sensitive and her skin flushed, feverish even. 

Draughts of cool wine had failed to alleviate the heat that seemed to be boiling her insides alive; much of her skin was slick with sweat, in fact it only seemed to make it worse, the slightest movement or breeze against her skin nearly dragging wanton moans from her mouth at the sensations that fogged her mind.

If Solomon Kumonga noticed her distress she did not know, being almost scared to look at him for some reason, her Hand was royally drunk, slumped and almost passed out from wine. Ser Davos Seaworth and Lord Varys were in engaged in sporadic conversations with the officers of the Black Legion. All were of Summer Islander blood, but seemed to be a closed mouthed bunch, and they did not seem to be letting drink loosen their tongues. 

She let her mind wander, not really concentrating on anything, hoping to put aside the burning desire that she had been bottling up since the wedding had begun, determined to not succumb to what her body seemed to be craving, namely her new husband.

After a few minutes Daenerys realised with a start that her husband had stood up and was making a short speech, after which he reached down a meaty hand to wrap around her arm, effortlessly lifting her from her chair to stand.

Salutes, cheers and some catcalls accompanied her as Kumonga, his hand still firmly on her arm, led her out of the Great Hall and onwards towards her chambers, eight members of the Black Legion accompanying them in silence.

She tried to pull away from Kumonga’s grip, annoyed that he would presume to manhandle her in such a way, but his grip was implacable, his strength enormous, she could not budge from his hold on her.

Arriving at her chambers the Black Legionaires took up position, Kumonga announcing “See to it that we are not disturbed”, smugness heavy in his voice, before he marched her into her chambers and shut the door behind him. 

Moving her into her bedchambers Kumonga released the grip he had on her arm and stood before her, towering over her, the sheer masculine presence of him overwhelming, intimidating. And Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen realised that she may have made a mistake in marrying this man, her hands clasping together before her revealing her sudden nervousness.

“Your first husband was a savage who lead a tribe of Horse fuckers, your second husband was a meek fool, neither of them were men that could rule a dragon Queen. You have never met a man who can rule you Daenerys Stormborn, but I am the man who will rule you. As he said this he had been unlacing his trousers, his hands working at the laces that hid an obscenely gigantic bulge, pulling free a pillar and stones of such enormous size that her eyes bulged in shock, her mouth gaping in surprise, an involuntary amazed gasp slipping past her lips. A new wave of heat flushed her face as her right hand went to her face of its own volition.

‘By the Gods!’ That is the biggest manhood I have ever seen!’ flashed her thoughts across the surface of her mind, all other thoughts banished by the sight before her.

“I know the hunger in your eyes little dragon, I’ve seen it many times before” he chuckled as he undid his doublet and pulled his short off, revealing a body of such sculpted perfection that it dragged another shocked gasp from her mouth. 

Grabbing his hardening pillar in his hands horror washed across her face as the thick, heavily veined shaft throbbed and grew in size, rising towards her.

“You act strong, think that you are strong, but I know how weak you really are.” Solomon Kumonga said in a deep, rumbling voice, one that sent shivers exploding through her body. 

He gestured with his now rampant cock at her “You need this” he hissed, his eyes blazing with lust, seeming to sear her face with the intensity of his gaze.

“I.....I.....” stuttered Daenerys in response, unable to say anything else, her eyes now unable to tear themselves away from Solomon Kumonga’s cock.  
“I am going to break you with my cock, Mother of Dragons” he chuckled, reaching up with a hand to unclasp the short cloak that was tied with a sliver chain at her neck, he feel of his hands brushing against the skin of her neck eliciting a stuttered “oh....” from her as fire raced down her skin at the merest lightest of touches from Kumonga.

The cloak fell at her feet behind her as his other hand left were it gripped his cock and he placed both of them on the flesh of her teats, sending shudders racing throughout her that made her core clench and spasm. He kneaded her teats briefly before slipping his huge fingers under the material of her dress, his fingers felt like burning brands where the dragged across the skin of her teats.

She brought up a hand to grasp at his wrist, gearing what he was about to do “Wait....”she gasped, her voice barely under her control “You, you cannot....I am a Queen!” she stammered her denial with the first coherent thought that entered her head. 

Solomon Kumonga simply gave her an evil grin simply ripped her dress from her shoulders, her shouted denial of “NOO!!” not deterring him in the slightest, exposing her teats fully to him. With movements almost too swift for her to see one of his huge hands wrapped itself fully around her neck while with the other he reduced her dress to torn rags.

She choked as his grip closed around her neck, an involuntary “Hkk....” escaping her, followed by a desperate “NOOplease......” Which Solomon Kumonga ignored completely, his eyes blazing with lust and desire as they beheld her now naked body. 

“I hope that dress was not too expensive Daenerys Stormborn?” he asked, laughing darkly as he held her effortlessly by the neck, his strength was enormous, terrifying, she quailed at it and yet at the same time her heated core clenched in pleasure at the feeling of being so helpless.

He carried her to her bed, holding her up off the ground by her neck, not choking her, but his grip was firm, stepping out of his boots and tugging down his pants to stand fully naked. Gripping one her legs he turned her over and placed her face down on all fours on her bed, memories of her first time with Drogo flashing through her mind. Solomon however was much, much larger than Drogo and as she scrambled to get up she felt something incredibly broad and hard push into her cunt.

“Ohh....GODS!!!” she gasped at the intrusion, knowing what it was, pain warring with a tidal wave of pleasure from Solomon’s cock entering her.

She heard Kumonga groan “Ahh, you are so wet Khaleesi” as he pushed more of himself into her, his incredible girth uncomfortable in the extreme.  
“Noplease.....noplease....it’s too big...it’s toobig...you....I...I can’t” Danny panted, trying to lever herself forwards and off his enormous cock, a huge hand dropping to grip an arse cheek to prevent her from moving any further.

“Too big?” laughed Kumonga “that’s not even all the head my little dragon!” as another of his hands fell onto her shoulder, bracing her between his two hands Kumonga began to thrust deeper into her, his massive cock feeling like it was tearing her apart, splitting her in two.

“Ohhhhhh.....please.....N..No...No More.....” she gasped out as he slowly pushed inside her.

“That’s enough!” she shrieked, her face twisted in pain as the violation of her womanhood continued unabated “That’s Hnnngggg, gnnnhhgg” she gasped, unable to form words as still he pushed into her.

“Unnnhhhh.....Uuuughhhhhhh” escaped her mouth as she felt him reach her cervix, the giant head of his cock scraping against it, sending shockwaves through her, his heavy balls slapping lightly against her thighs.

Then suddenly he withdrew almost his entire length from her, eliciting a surprised gasp form her, before reversing and slamming to the hilt inside her, a scream twisting from her mouth as he sheathed his pillar deep.

He moved his giant hands to her waist, gripping her above her hips in a vice like grip and steadily himself for a moment he then started to fuck her harder and deeper than she had ever been fucked before. Within a few thrusts the pain of the intrusion of his enormous pillar started to fade a little, and be accompanied with a steadily rising pleasure, waves of it radiating out from her stuffed cunt to crash and break against her mind, driving away anything but the raw sensations of being fucked.

Daenerys struggled to hold onto her mind, to not let herself be lost in the moment, she tried to call out but all that came out of her mouth was “Augh.....Hannhhh!!!” 

her last reserves of consciousness she gasped “Mmuh...Mercy...please....” hoping that Solomon would stop his relentless, battering assault on her cunt, but a ever growing part of her mind did not want Solomon to stop, wanted him to continue fucking her like he was fucking her. Because she could feel her peak coming, building rapidly and with an intensity that she knew would overwhelm her.

“Mercy Khaleesi?” Solomon Kumonga grunted, his pace not slacking for a second, continuing to slam into her without pause “NEVER!” he snarled, growling as he savagely pounded into her.

“AUUGHHH!! AAIIIEEEE!!!!” she screamed hoarsely to the counterpoint of Solomon’s grunts and the wet slapping sounds their flesh colliding, her cunt clenching suddenly as her peak exploded through her unexpectedly. 

“AGHH! AAAAA! UGUHHHHH! AAAHHHH! AUUHHH! AAOOOWWW!” Daenerys cried out as pleasure she had never even thought possible overwhelmed her, her vision dimming as and the world faded away to a distant memory. 

The world returned in a fit and a start, the thrusts of her husband in her cunt still frantic in their intensity and speed, his hands gripping at the fleshy globes of her arse cheeks.

“That’s it Mhysa, cum on my big black cock, you fucking little slut!” Solomon roared, his coarse words setting off another incredible peak, that swept her away from knowing once again. 

Daenerys lost track of how many times she peaked on Solomon’s thrusting cock as she was reduced to nothing but a bundle of nerves that were overloaded with pleasure, nothing existed anymore for her. Her entire existence narrowed down to the tube of her wet flesh that contained frantically thrusting Solomon’s cock. Her mouth lolled open, making nonsensical noises, her eyes refused to focus on anything, were it not for Kumonga’s hands wrapped around her waist she would have collapsed on the bed, sprawled boneless and exhausted.

Solomon’s grunts had become more erratic, his thrusts almost desperate until finally with a bellowed roar he shouted “AHHHHHHH!!!! TAKE MY LOAD!!!!” 

Her eyes snapped open as she realised he was spilling his seed inside her, a great heat flooding her insides and shattering her consciousness into a roaring fire of pleasure that made everything else she had experienced before pale into insignificance.

“UGUUUU.....AWWW....UGGGGHHH.....AHHHHHH!” she screeched as her eyes rolled up in their sockets, the flooding warmth of Kumonga’s seed destroying what last vestiges of control Daenerys had.

“YESSSSSS!” she hissed, not knowing where she got the strength to talk, “CUM IM MEEEEEE” she wailed as Solomon’s cock continued to buck and throb inside her, his seed flowing like a torrent out of her to coat her thighs. Inside her she clenched and gripped at the pulsing cock, feeling her insides spasm and dip under the influence of powerful and involuntary muscular contractions.

“It won’t be long until I pump a baby into your womb my Dragon slut!” Solomon hissed, his crude words sending lighting like thrills racing over her heated skin. 

Daenerys drifted in a haze of pleasure, soothing warmth pulsing out from her womanhood to fill her exhausted body, the sudden removal of Solomon’s cock shaking her from her stupor as he grabbed her by her shoulders and lifted her from the bed to plop her down on the floor beside the bed. Great dollops of his seed spilled from her distended sex, splashing wetly on the stone floor as Solomon moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his thighs splayed and his huge cock still hard, slick with their mingled juices and dripping seed from its tip. 

One of Solomon’s hands gripped a fistful of her hair as he chuckled “Now tell me Daenerys, did you enjoy getting fucked by a real man?”

“Yes” she stuttered “yes....my King...” 

“Good, in that case bring your beautiful mouth here and thank me for fucking you as only a real man can” his fist bunching in her hair and tugging her towards the head of his cock. 

As her head got closer Daenerys’s eyes widened in shock, his cock was absolutely enormous, but then the scent of his cock caught in her nostrils. A heavenly, musky scent filled her nose, tingling and banishing all fears that she might have had, wiping away any reluctance to take his cock in her mouth.

With a wanton “AAAHHHHHHHH” she opened her mouth and let her tongue lap at the dollop of thick seed that was leaking from the tip, the moment her tongue touched the seed a shudder of desire throbbed through her, and she slid her lips over the hard, ridged flesh of the crown of his cock.

The taste of his seed was incredible, like nothing she had ever tasted before, thick, rich, delicious, and she knew she wanted more of it, and that there was only one way to get more of this most intoxicating of fluids.

With Solomon’s hand still gripping her hair Daenerys began to bob her head up and down on the huge black cock sticking out of her mouth, enjoying it much more than she would have thought. Doreah had taught her the basics of pleasuring a man with her mouth, she had put what she had learned to use with Drogo, and later with Dario. But she felt like a maiden again with Solomon’s so huge and thick was it, and she wanted to please her husband, wanted desperately to taste his seed again, for him to shoot it into her mouth. Daenerys did not know where these thoughts came from, nor did she care, instead putting all she had learned from her lovers to pleasuring Solomon with her mouth.

After a few minutes she gazed up at her new husband, while her lips slid up and down over his cock head and her tongue lashed and twirled over the hard bulk in her mouth.

“Good girl” he sighed and with his handful of hair he pulled her towards him “Now take it deeper, show me how much you love your King” as he pulled her head down, forcing more and more of his cock into her mouth and down her protesting throat. She tried to resist him, to push back up, but it was of no use, Solomon was far too strong.

“GULP.....HUKK....HRRK...GKKKK” were the only sounds that came out of her mouth as Solomon’s cock slid deeper and deeper, choking off her breathing until her nose was buried in the thick pubes and the base of his cock. The scent coming from his skin was divine, but she could not breath, thankfully Solomon stopped pushing her head down and let her suddenly remove his cock altogether. His hand still rested heavy on her head as she coughed and spluttered, regaining her breathing and something of her composure Daenerys licked at the slick underside of Solomon’s cock head and rather wistfully remarked “I am sorry my King, I, could not keep it down, you, you are too big...” as she returned to sucking and licking at his engorged cock head.

“There is no such thing as ‘too big’ Solomon Kumonga laughed at her, before cupping the back of her head in one of his hands and saying “Just open wide sweetling, just open wide.....and swallow.”

With that he pushed himself back into her mouth and down her throat. His hand resting on the top of her head, his fingers wrapped around her skull as he moved her head up and down, up and down his cock. Daenerys put her hands on his splayed thighs as he slowly fucked in and out of her mouth, her plump lips drooling spittle from her throat to coat Solomon’s massive ebony shaft.

Now and then he would hilt himself in her throat, but he mostly kept up a rather leisurely pace, Daenerys reaching an unexpected peak just from allowing Solomon to use her mouth and throat.

He would often comment and make crass comments about what she was doing, but rather than insult or annoy her, now these excited her, made her want to please Solomon more, moaning and gently fondling his incredible sized stones in response. He held her head still with just the wide, flared head of his cock in her mouth, allowing her to bob up and down and use her tongue to pleasure the underside of the head, eliciting increasing moans of pleasure from Kumonga. 

“Ahhh....that’s it” he moaned “that’s so fucking good......ahhhh, hold it....hold it.....AHHHHHHH!!!!!”

And with that the flesh in her mouth bucked once, twice and then pulsed, a hot, salty torrent of thick, delicious seed exploding into her mouth.

Savouring the taste of the heavy, gooey fluid she was surprised as the cock spasmed again and delivered another similar sized load, nearly overwhelming her mouth, thick ropes of seed spurting between her lips and the shaft of the thrusting cock.

A third, fourth, fifth load followed, her eyes opening wide in surprise at the volume of seed flooding her mouth, she started gulping frantically, as Solomon’s cock showed no sign of ceasing its ejaculations.

“More than you are used to eh? Ahahahahah!” Solomon laughing at her plight, slamming her head down until he hilted himself in her throat, his seed shooting out of her nose.

“Good little girl, there you go!” he announced, suddenly pulling her head backwards and off from his still pulsing cock “I think you have had your fill!”

“Agghhhhh, gnuuuhhhh” was all she could say in response, her mouth open, her tongue out and coated in thick, viscous seed.

Solomon gripped her head tighter as a strand of seed as thick as her thumb erupted from the tip of his cock, she closed her eyes and felt the heavy fluid splash against her forehead and splatter into her hair.

“Here’s your reward....ughhhh” Solomon grunted as another long stream of seed splashed against the side of her face, coating her from hairline to chin “For a job well done” Solomon added.

The stream of seed stopped, Daenerys felt several more large dollops land on her face and in her hair, the smell and taste of Solomon’s seed heady as she scooped it into her mouth with her fingers, greedy to not waste a single drop of this delicious elixir.

“Go and clean yourself up, but don’t bother putting on any clothes, we have much still to enjoy of each other bodies.”

“Yes my King” Daenerys replied automatically, her body already thrilling at the thoughts of more sex with Solomon Kumonga.


End file.
